


The Son of the Fey

by Lost_Elf



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe – Fantasy, Amputation, Anal Sex, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Brief Non-Consensual Gore Kink, Con Artist Handsome Jack, Curses, Fey Rhys, First Time, Guro, Happy Ending, Hunter Handsome Jack, Hurt/Comfort, I only indulged one of my kinks, I promise the work is sweet, Injury Recovery, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Magic, Magic Made Them Do It, Pining, Sharing Body Heat, Strangers to Lovers, The Author Regrets Nothing, there was only one blanket; oh no, this is a lot of words for the author's small gore kink, travel companions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23914147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_Elf/pseuds/Lost_Elf
Summary: Handsome Jack lives a normal life of a hunter and a con artist. The whole continent hates him and wants him dead, and he likes his life, thinking there is nothing better for him in this world. That is until he meets a suspicious young man who claims to have wandered too far from home and can’t find his way.*** DISCLAIMER: There will be one gore/guro scene in this story. It is quite irrelevant to the otherwise sweet story, and I will mark it appropriately by two lines at the beginning and end of it, so you can avoid it if this is not your thing. :) ***
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 50





	The Son of the Fey

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly consider this one of my best works. I love fantasy, and I'm proud of myself for writting all of this just because I wanted to finally write guro. :D (The guro part is only a few paragraphs, don't worry.)
> 
> Enjoy! ^.^
> 
> A/N: The ‘continent’ is actually an island, not so big. :D

“Stop him!”

“Shoot!”

“Get me that lying bastard’s head!”

Jack can’t resist stopping for a second to turn around and stick his tongue out at his pursuers. A couple of arrows fly past him, not dangerously close, but he decides to not test his luck any longer and continues his grandiose escape.

His little game worked for three whole days. He made the stupid peasants believe that he is the _Lord of Hyperion_ , and they served him their best foods, offered their most beautiful women and let him stay in the nicest room in the village. When they realised that he is just a con artist, they demanded he covers the cost of his stay. When they learned he doesn’t have a single coin, or land and wealth to his name, they wanted to hang him as a thief. (Even though they didn’t have the right to do so, as Jack helpfully pointed out.)

Escaping danger was something he was really good at, so getting out of the loosely tied ropes that held him, picking up his satchel and bow, and running, it was all like a routine to him. It felt like _home_ more than any other place in the world did. He’d spare a tear if he wasn’t saving his breath and energy for later.

After some time, the villagers gave up chasing him, leaving it to the forest to deal with the hunter. He knew the woods all over the continent like the back of his hand, so he wasn’t afraid, while they were probably scared shitless, affected by whichever bedtime story they chose to believe now.

Back in the day, Jack would hunt prey for coin. His affection for alcohol brought him to debts that he could no longer repay by hunting. And so, for years, he practiced the art of conning, until almost all of the continent hated him. And he wouldn’t stop until it was simply the _whole continent_.

The forest remained thick and dark for two hours, and then Jack finally met a clearing. A river of sparkling, clear water surrounded by a rocky shore called to him like a blessing.

Jack doesn’t believe in many legends and stories, and he certainly doesn’t believe in elves, forest nymphs and spirits, dryads, werewolves, unicorns, and other stupid nonsense. He believes in trolls and dwarves in the mountains because he had met them before, and he believes in _fey_ , but that’s all. So, they were not the nature forces that brought him to the cooling water, but his pure survival skill.

And against his survival skill and instinct, Jack drove his hands into the crystal clear water and brought it to his face, drinking rapidly and quenching his thirst without cleaning the water first.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” someone speaks behind him so suddenly Jack falls forward into the water. It was caused by the surprise that someone managed to sneak up on him, which was _impossible_ , and not that he was startled. He wasn’t startled at all. And his heart was beating fast because of how cold the water was, not shock or fear.

“I’ve seen a bear piss in the river a few miles up from here,” the person added, watching Jack with amusement as he struggled to pull himself up.

“You!” he growled. “Where the hell did you come from?!”

“Me? I was just on a walk when I heard a creature loud and obnoxious like a giant stomping through the forest. I came closer, you didn’t see me, and so I— Do you need help?” they asked just as Jack finally managed to stand on the solid ground. He lunged at them immediately, but they dodged him without effort.

He stood still, fuming and glaring at the stranger. It appeared to be a young man. Jack couldn’t guess his age, but the man’s – or boy’s – face was perfectly smooth. And quite beautiful. He took another long look, studying every detail of his body. Simple brown pants, torn in places, no shirt, just the strap of his bag going across his pale chest.

And the tattoos. Blue and black, unlike anything Jack had ever seen. The boy is pretty, tall with legs going for days and muscles hiding under perfect skin. His brown hair is a little ruffled from the wind as he probably walked alongside the river for hours, unprotected by the treeline. His eyes are the most interesting thing, though. Mismatched, like Jack’s.

“Are you done staring?” the stranger asks, smug and still amused.

“Who the hell are you?” Jack asks instead of reacting to the jab, but he has already decided he knows the answer.

“My name is Rhys,” the boy answers with a soft smile. Whether he is naïve, or trying to look innocent, Jack will soon learn. Carefully and slowly, his hand begins to inch towards the hilt of his hunting knife.

“I’m Handsome Jack,” he introduces himself. “The dwarves, though,” he makes a step forward, simultaneously nodding towards the high mountains visible in the distance, and Rhys glances in that direction, stupidly, “they call me _Son of the Fey_.”

He watches shock and fear flicker in the boy’s face, slowing him down enough for Jack to lunge at him and topple him to the ground. The momentum is stronger than he expected, and they both roll over, but Jack is obviously a more experienced fighter, and he manages to end up on top, with Rhys pinned under him, the tip of Jack’s knife pressing against his throat.

“Who. Are. You.” He repeats his question, pressing on the knife just a little bit more. He believes, _knows_ that if he draws blood, it will be _gold_. Fey have many magical aspects, and bleeding gold is the most commonly known of them. Glowing, mending things, being beautiful and ageless, decorating their bodies with paints, it all races through Jack’s mind as he searches for a proof that he is right, he _has to be_.

A speck of red on Rhys’ shoulder catches his eye. One of the scratches he got while they rolled around is bleeding – red and normal. It isn’t even healing rapidly, as it should if the legends are correct.

“You are not a fey,” Jack breaths out, disappointed.

“O-of course I’m not!” Rhys stammers. There is genuine fear in his voice. “Please, get off me.”

Groaning, Jack stands up, but before Rhys can do the same, he points his knife at him again. “You haven’t answered my question, Pumpkin.”

Rhys gulps and stays rooted in place. “I’m Rhys, I told you. I was just walking here, and—”

“Quite a long walk, don’t ya think?” Jack interrupts him. “The closest human settlement is a few hours this way, and there isn’t anything in the other direction for days.”

“I…” Rhys shifts nervously, eyes drifting to the sharp knife before looking down at the sparse grass under him. “I got lost… a few days ago. I can’t find my way home. I need help.”

Groaning, Jack shoves the knife in its place at his waist. “Great! I’m not gonna be taking care of some stupid kid, so, get out of my way.”

The boy stands up hesitantly, still trembling. He eyes the sheathed knife, and Jack, with the same curiosity, eyes the boy’s throat. He is sure he did not leave a single scratch, or maybe barely a scratch, but there is now a red spot where he threatened him with the weapon, like a rash.

_“Yeh, Son o' t'e Fey! If yeh ever forced te fight yer ancestors like us Dwarves were during t'e great war, make sure te use iron. 'Ey can’t stan' eet; ee’s poison!”_

“What’s that?” he asks, and Rhys reaches up to cover the spot.

“N-nothing! You hurt me a little, but I can handle it!” he blurts out and takes a few steps back.

“You’re a fey!” It feels like a loop, and it is getting a little awkward. Jack steps forward, towering over the young man, taking full advantage of the few inches he has on him.

“No!” Rhys shakes his head. “I’m— I’m not a fey! Have you ever even seen one in your life? I’m not glowing, right? I’m, I’m just, I’m a child of a fey, like you!”

Children of humans and fey often bore signs. In Jack’s case, and supposedly Rhys’ too, it was mismatched eyes. Jack’s green and blue, Rhys’ blue and brown. They eyed each other. Jack was sure the boy was lying through his teeth, but he couldn’t find anything to prove it. And what use was a fey if it didn’t bleed gold? Maybe it wasn’t enough; maybe he was supposed to shed all of its blood, but what’s the point of trying? It might be just another unlucky kid like him.

“No, I haven’t,” he admits. “My father died when I was a baby. My mother wanted nothing to do with me.”

Eyeing the boy’s reaction carefully, he notices Rhys’ sadness. “Where are your parents?” he asks.

“Home,” Rhys mumbles. “I don’t know where.”

“Lost, right,” Jack scoffs. “Few days, you say? There are not many options. I know of maybe ten settlements that you could wander away from in a _few days_...”

“Maybe…” Rhys shifts nervously, rubbing the back of his neck and blushing, “maybe it was a little bit more...”

The hunter raises his eyebrows at him. “Like?”

“Like... Months?” Rhys is red in face as he says that, shame making him squirm. “I kept just wandering, hoping I would find my people. But I think I just wandered even further away.”

“Sounds like it,” Jack hums. “Look, there is not much I can do for you—”

“Where are you heading?” Rhys asks out of nowhere, almost too eagerly. “Can I come with you?”

“Uhh...” It is Jack’s turn to squirm. “Look, kiddo... It’d be better for you to just find the village I left this morning and ask them for help. I’m not the kind of adventurer that takes an apprentice. You would be a burden and, and I don’t even know where _I’m_ heading! There is definitely a long road ahead of me, a few days of sleeping in the open, no comfort... Nothing for a kid like you.”

Rhys frowns, his eyebrows knitting together and lip protruding in a cute pout. “I would not be a burden. I can hunt! And I’m not useless.”

“You are definitely a useless fighter,” Jack scoffs. “You bruise easily; you are fragile. Besides, I’m a _hunter_. I don’t need a kid to hunt for me.” He ignores Rhys’ _I’m not a kid_. “You really should—”

“But I’m like you, right?” Rhys implores him, even taking a brave step forward. “We are different than other people. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone who understands you for once?” He shifts his expression in a way that reminds Jack of puppies.

“I dunno what you’re talking about,” he mutters, but something heavy settles in his chest. He remembers years of side-glances, insults, curses and hate from his grandmother and the whole village. If Rhys is what he claims to be, he probably had a similar childhood.

But Handsome Jack travels alone, and he looks him in the eyes to say just that. But the brown and blue bore into him, pulling at the heart he didn’t even know he had. “Fine!” he grumbles. “I’ll take you to the settlement on the other side of the forest.”

“Thank you!” the boy jumps excitedly. “You won’t regret it. I survived so far, right? I can be of help!”

“Whatever.” Jack rolls his eyes and starts taking off his clothes to let it dry. He takes everything out of his satchel, spreading his possessions on the sun-heated rocks, all the while ignoring Rhys’ curious stare.

His patience runs out when he realises that Rhys isn’t about to stop staring even after Jack takes off his pants. He turns to the boy with an expression of exasperation, rolling his eyes when the boy blushes and finally looks away.

“You can go hunt us some lunch,” he suggests, partially hoping that the boy will get lost on the way, “if you are _such a good hunter_ , as you claim.”

“Good idea! I’ll be back soon!” Rhys jumps at the opportunity, pulling a wooden spike out of his satchel and leaving the rest of it there with Jack as he runs off.

He is so unbelievably naïve. Jack could steal all of his possessions and leave him there if he wanted. He doesn’t resist – doesn’t even try to – the temptation to go through Rhys’ things. He finds a blanket way too thin for sleeping in the woods, a small cauldron in good condition (much better than the pan Jack owns), some herbs, probably picked up along the way, and a few papers with simple drawings of nature, a village and some people.

“I hope you like hares.”

Jack startles again and drops the pictures. It has only been a couple minutes since Rhys left, and he couldn’t have—

“What the hell?” he pauses and stares at three well-fed hares in Rhys’ hand. All of them had their necks snapped, no other visible injury. “Where did you get those?”

“I… hunted them down?” Rhys answers, uncertainty making him frown. “Where else would I get them?”

“ _When?!_ You were gone for— Where the hell did you get them?”

Jack is not impressed. He would be if it took Rhys twice as much time. Like this, it looked like he literally only walked into the forest and picked them up. Which was freaky and not cool at all.

“Well, I…” Rhys seems to finally realise that he did something unusual. “I mean, they were just sitting there, eating some shamrock… So, I, uhm, caught them?”

Jack resists the urge to ask Rhys again what the hell he is. He snatches the hares from him instead and begins skinning them. After some nervous shifting and staring, Rhys begins to gather wood for a fire.

By the time Jack has prepared the hares, using some of the herbs from Rhys’ satchel, the fire is burning strong. Jack begins to notice that Rhys is really quiet while moving around, and it can’t be because of his lack of shoes. Some fairy-tale creatures come to the hunter’s mind, but he shakes such thoughts away. He needs to tell himself that Rhys is just a stupid kid.

His clothes are dry by the time they fill their bellies with meat, and so Jack packs his things and the remaining hare, and they head out into the forest. They keep out of the sun and wind, covered by trees.

After only one hour of walking in silence, Jack understands how Rhys could get lost so desperately. The boy has absolutely no sense of orientation. If they stop to drink water, he usually heads out in the wrong direction, sometimes even back the way they came from. His story seems all the more believable each time he looks around in confusion, puppy eyes stopping at Jack as if saying _I have no idea what we are doing._

It remains a question how Rhys managed to survive in the wildness for so long with his childish naivety. He looks like the kind who would try to pet a bear because it is fluffy.

Then again, he might have done so with his stealth skills, sneaking away before the bear even noticed.

By the nightfall, Jack has found a nice meadow to spend the night at. Rhys gathers wood while Jack gets some rocks from the river shore not far from the place they found, and while Rhys makes fire – Jack wouldn’t admit that, but the boy is much better at it than he is – Jack prepares their blankets. Jack’s are made of furs and thick wool; Rhys’ one blanket is just one thin cloth.

“Aren’t you gonna be cold with just that?” he asks, already suspecting that he will be forced to part with one of his furs. The night is going to be chilly, and Rhys cannot get through it with his tattered pants and that pathetic piece of cloth.

“I don’t know. Maybe?” Rhys eyes his blanket doubtfully, like it was the first time he was to sleep in the open.

Jack groans. The kid cannot be any more stupid or weird, right? “What about the previous nights? How did you sleep?”

With a shrug, Rhys looks up. “High in the trees. It is safer. This is the first time I’m sleeping on the ground.”

Well, maybe he _can_ get even more weird… “And you weren’t cold up in the trees?” he asks.

With another shrug, Rhys admits that yes, it was usually cold. He admits to sleeping during the day, in the sun. It probably slowed his travel speed, giving Jack a hope that Rhys’ home is not that far away (plus, his ability to walk in circles for hours might help shorten the distance too), and therefore Jack will be able to get rid of him soon.

To nobody’s surprise, Jack wakes up in the middle of the night to see Rhys huddled close to the fire, wrapped tightly in his blanket and the one fur Jack has lent him, trying to get warm.

“You should sleep,” the hunter grumbles drowsily. “I won’t let you sleep during the day.”

Rhys’ teeth are clattering as he speaks. “I w-won’t need to. I-I’m al-alright.”

“Sure you are,” Jack grumbles, turning on the other side, away from the too bright fire. He falls asleep again easily, not caring about the boy.

In the morning, Jack is well rested, used to sleeping in such conditions. Rhys, surprisingly, doesn’t look as exhausted as Jack expected. He is even paler than yesterday, his lips bluish, but he is ready to go after they eat leftovers for breakfast.

Rhys is good at keeping up with Jack’s pace. He makes up for his lack of a sense of orientation by picking up more herbs and fruits for them to add some variation to their meals. This is the only thing they talk about for days. Jack tries to ignore Rhys and the weird things about him, and the kid soon learns that the hunter doesn’t appreciate banter. He seems to turn sad with every shot down attempt at talking, but he respects Jack’s wish to be quiet.

After few days, Jack manages to replace the feathers on his arrows that got damaged thanks to his sudden bath when he met Rhys, and he decides to hunt down something special. He leaves Rhys in their camp in the morning and finds a young doe, ending its life with two arrows. The nearest settlement is not far from where they slept, and he wants to take advantage of that.

Rhys does not like the plan, and he says that multiple times while he helps Jack prepare the skin and the meat for sale.

“I just, I’ve never done that, I don’t… Look, I don’t think it will work.” By then, he knows that doing a particular face at Jack has an effect on the grumpy man. It isn’t helping this time, and he starts pouting instead.

“It’s easy,” Jack repeats, annoyed. “You walk there, find the man I described, offer the skin and meat for a wool blanket, bread and cheese, and you don’t back down from the price. He can try to find faults at the goods, but you don’t have to argue with him. Just tell him that you know the price and that you are actually giving it for cheap, so he better takes it or leaves it. Don’t let him trick you. It’s easy, really.”

“I’m just really not good at this…” Rhys groans. “Can’t you go there?”

“No,” Jack reminds him for the hundredth time, “I’m not welcome in that village. And I know you are, like, really bad at people, and that’s why we ask so little for a whole doe. You will make it. Just don’t back down.”

“Fine,” Rhys gives up reluctantly. Jack helps him carry the goods to the village but doesn’t go near enough to be seen. He waits covered by the treeline, carving more arrows from the young branches sprouting from the trees.

When Rhys finally returns more than an hour later, he is carrying a blanket, bread and cheese. He looks a little paler than usually, and he is shaking, but there is a victorious smirk on his face. “I did it!” he calls out from afar, spotting Jack without any effort where most wouldn’t even notice him from a shorter distance.

“Good,” Jack says, rolling his eyes. “Now try not to let the whole world know. You will attract ol’ Huxter’s dogs.”

They continue their journey, Rhys talking loudly all the while about his success, Jack tolerating him – because why not? At least he isn’t looking at him like a kicked puppy when he doesn’t react to his rambling, because he doesn’t even notice that Jack is quiet the whole time.

Before dawn, they walk past one more village, selling a bunch of rabbits that Rhys hunted. For the first time in months, Jack has some coins in his pouch. They accept money instead of goods or alcohol, because Jack doesn’t want to drink when Rhys is tagging along and because it’s about time they start saving up for winter.

At night, Jack is once more woken up to Rhys not sleeping, huddled under two blankets and staring into the fire. It’s a usual sight, and normally, he would just roll on the other side and ignore him, thinking that of course Rhys is cold even under the added layer, because he is such a twig, but something in his face makes the hunter sit up and stretch, yawning and chasing sleep away.

Looking at the sky, he finds that there are at least two more hours before dawn. He will need to sleep in a little, unable to keep up the pace without proper sleep like the younger man can. For now, though, he scoots closer to the boy who watches him with barely concealable worry.

“Am I waking you up?” he asks. He worries a lip between his sharp little teeth – too white, too nice – and tries to find the answer in Jack’s face.

“Nah,” the hunter shrugs. “Just decided I really want to have a deep talk with you in the middle of the night. That’s something that has been missing from my life…”

After a while, Rhys frowns. “You are pulling my leg,” he accuses, making Jack laugh.

“Kudos to you, kiddo. It only took you a week to learn what sarcasm is!” He chuckles and throws one arm nonchalantly around Rhys’ shoulders. “So, why do you look like someone stole all your toys when you’ve been all happy in the afternoon?”

Rhys stiffens, but then his shoulders sag and he looks down. “It’s nothing, just… It’s stupid,” he tries to shrug it off, but it’s obviously weighting him down, resting on his chest and suffocating him, and it only takes three shaky inhales from him to give in and say it.

“I miss home,” Rhys confesses. “I… I miss my parents, and my friends, and my bed. I miss the village and the lake. I miss every tree in and outside the village, and every flower on every meadow. I… I’m sorry, it’s so stupid.”

Jack doesn’t know what to say. Feelings are not his strong side, nor is talking, unless he wants to trick Rhys into giving him something he wants. He squeezes his shoulder gingerly, patting his back then, all the while trying to come up with something else than _that sounds bad_.

“It’s my fault I got lost,” Rhys sighs. “I knew I will never find my way back, but I wanted to… prove someone that I can do something. I wanted to go on an adventure and come back and show them how much they underestimated me. But I got lost like some jackass!”

Unable to stop himself, Jack mutters that it really was stupid. He expects Rhys to pull away, maybe try to hit him, but he only tenses up and then... chuckles. “Yeah, I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”

“I guess there are some good things ‘bout you,” Jack shrugs, remembering the pleasant weight at his waist, a few copper coins. “We could do so much together, Pumpkin! A little bit of training, and we can make enough to buy a horse, and then we’ll be making even more. Don’t question it; that’s how it works, I’m tellin’ ya!”

Rhys giggles, subconsciously leaning closer to Jack while doing so. “I believe you,” he says. “We’ll travel the land and make a lot of money. And maybe, on the way, we will find my village… right?”

“Right,” Jack says as honestly as he can. Not that he would have to try, because Rhys usually doesn’t recognise when he is lying. He is about to say some simple reassurance, but Rhys suddenly stiffens under his arm. He looks at him only to notice his eyes are staring somewhere into the darkness. He looks in the same direction and stiffens too.

There, just on the edge of where the light of the fire reaches, two yellow eyes shine, watching them. A wolf.

His first instinct tells him that what he sees is bullshit. A wolf wouldn’t ever attack them like that, even if starved. They are too dangerous of a prey. But the beast growls as if to say _here I am_. It doesn’t look scared at all.

Jack risks a glance at his bow on the other side of the campfire. He only has his knife at hand, and that wouldn’t be enough. There is no thick and long branch in the fire that he could use as a torch, and so he starts carefully inching towards his weapon.

But as soon as he moves, the wolf growls in warning, baring big teeth covered in green saliva.

“It’s been cursed,” Rhys hisses, tensing up even more. The wolf growls again and starts walking towards them, not giving Jack the time to say that that is bullshit too, who would curse a wolf.

If Jack reaches the bow before the wolf, it will be too late anyway. His only hope is his knife, sheathed safely at his waist. But before he can reach for it, Rhys snatches it. A question gets stuck in the hunter’s throat as he watches the boy jump over the campfire and run towards the wolf, his feet making no sound but his vicious scream chilling the blood in Jack’s veins.

Rhys stops right in front of the beast so suddenly it looks like he is about to lose balance and topple over. They stare at each other for a second before the wolf roars and tenses up to attack. Again, words of warning get stuck in Jack’s tight throat as he watches the beast jump forward and Rhys move out of its way with a roll. He ends up behind him, and he doesn’t hesitate to jump on the creature’s back before it can turn around.

With wide eyes, Jack watches Rhys sit on the wolf and grasp it by an ear, pull its head backwards and stab Jack’s knife to the hilt right into its eye.

The wolf howls and tries to snap at Rhys one more time before the knife is pulled out and thrust into the other eye, killing the beast. It crumples to the ground, letting out one long whine, and Rhys rolls off it, dropping Jack’s knife in the grass.

“Rhys!” the hunter springs forward, helping the younger man up. He checks with one glance that the wolf really is dead and then checks Rhys for any injury.

“I’m alright,” the boy shakes his head, whole body trembling with leftover thrill. He is clutching his hand, though, holding it to his chest with the other one, and when he notices Jack’s gaze fixed on it, he sighs. “Do you have any bandages? It… hurt me.”

“Sure,” Jack nods, quickly fetching some from his satchel. Rhys remains in the shadow, and so he pulls him to the campfire by his elbow. “Let me look,” he reaches for his hand.

“No, it’s alright,” Rhys shies away. “I’ll bandage it, and it will be alright. We need to keep moving. If there is something or some _one_ who can curse wolves, we aren’t safe here.”

He has a point, but Jack won’t be brushed off. “Let me look at least. I can stitch. If it’s deep, you shouldn’t let it bleed.”

“It’s not bleeding,” Rhys sighs. He studies Jack’s face, and when he recognises his stubbornness, he gives up, showing Jack his hand briefly.

The whole palm and fingers are swelling, covered in a red rash. He moves his hand away before Jack can grasp it and quickly snatches the bandages from him with his other hand.

“You are not human,” Jack says as he watches Rhys wrap his hand up. Somehow, even though he knew from the beginning, every new clue or proof stuns him. He has interacted with legends before, when he fought his first troll without even believing in them, and when he found his way into a dwarf mine. But this time, it feels like interacting with something above him. Dwarves and trolls are dirty, crass creatures. Whatever Rhys is, it is beautiful and stunning.

“We need to keep moving, Jack,” Rhys reminds, carefully collecting his things. His hand seems to hurt a lot, and so he ends up only using the other one, making his progress slow.

Shaking off his trance, Jack puts a long branch in the fire to use it as a torch when they take off and then packs both his and Rhys’ things. He helps the younger man put on his bag and then collects his knife, bow and arrows, keeping the latter in one hand and the torch in the other in case he needs to fight.

Rhys is silent as they walk, only occasionally hissing when he moves his aching hand wrong. The forest is silent too, dark and unusually calm in the night. No birds, no animals, not even wind. It is one of the scariest situations Jack has ever been in, and he is nervous until the birds finally start singing two hours after sunrise.

Both men let out a relieved sigh as the forest around them slowly blooms into life, small animals running away from Jack’s loud footsteps and birds flying overhead. Jack stops watching his surroundings so tensely, finally paying attention to Rhys.

He blinks a few times, taking in a sight that he hadn’t seen before. Rhys is flushed, red reaching both his face and chest, and he is sweating. He is obviously tired and feverous.

“Are you alright?” Jack asks, knowing that he is most definitely not. Just as he says it, Rhys sways a little to the side, stumbling and leaning on a tree to not lose balance. “Shit,” Jack curses. He drops his things in order to help Rhys sit down. His skin is hot to the touch, something new – he is always cold.

“That’s it, you need rest,” Jack decides, and Rhys doesn’t fight him on it. He lets the hunter take out a blanket and help him rest on it.

Jack stands watch while Rhys sleeps whatever is happening to him off. He watches the calm forest carefully, even though everything looks normal now. He makes sure to make Rhys drink water and eat some bread and cheese, but without knowing what is happening, he can’t do anything else.

It is two hours before dusk when Rhys finally wakes up enough to walk. They only travel a short distance, to a safer location where they can spend the night. This time, Jack hunts the dinner, makes fire and brings water, letting Rhys lay on his furs, shivering through another fever.

The hunter thought a lot about what he learned during the day. He knew that Rhys is not human. Maybe he even is a fey, if the legends are correct. He certainly doesn’t bleed gold, but he is _magical_ in other ways. Jack is sure he could find a right buyer…

But he doesn’t want to do that. Whatever Rhys is, he is lost, and too naïve for his own good, and he _trusts Jack_ of all people. Nobody has trusted him in a long time, since him and Zane parted ways.

He doesn’t want to end the trust like that. Maybe... He can just take Rhys home, get a huge reward from his parents, and then be on his way. Be the hero, like he always wanted to be.

The fire is burning bright and hot, but Rhys is shivering. His fever is gone now, but that leaves room for cold. His pants don’t provide much warmth and his blankets are damp from sweat.

They eat in silence, Rhys slowly, because the swelling of his hand didn’t go away at all. When it’s time for sleep, both of them being exhausted from the past night, Jack can only lay still with his conscience for a minute. He doesn’t know _what_ he feels bad for. Many things, probably. He didn’t thank Rhys for saving their lives. He thought about taking advantage of him. He didn’t even offer to lend him a blanket.

“Come here,” he speaks suddenly, startling the younger man. “You’ll be warmer if we share heat.” It’s the least he can do.

Rhys is a little hesitant as he crawls over to Jack, pulling his blankets with him. The hunter helps him lie down with his back to the fire, wrapping as many blankets and furs around him as possible. Their bodies press together under the warm layers, Jack’s hot and Rhys’ cold and trembling.

As he was positioning them comfortably, he noticed that Rhys’ previously tattered and dirty pants are now perfectly clean and there are no signs of holes and tears. He brings it up, asking Rhys why, but the young man silences him with a single word. “Please, Jack,” he sighs tiredly. The hunter decides he can let it go, write it off as another random miracle.

“Thank you,” the young man mumbles, falling asleep soon. Jack realises that today is the first time he has actually seen him sleep, not pretending to, or huddling by the fire instead of resting. He watches Rhys’ furrowed face in the flickering light for a few minutes, and then he lets sleep take him too.

Something is different in the morning. It takes Jack a few tries to wake up enough to grasp the change in the atmosphere. His instincts don’t go off like they did when they walked through the silent forest; instead, he feels his cheeks grow pink.

Rhys is hugging him, one hand rested on his chest. He seems to still be asleep, and he is dreaming. About something nice, probably. The hardness pressing against Jack’s thigh says so.

He is not sure what to do. On one side, he really shouldn’t allow this. On the other, Rhys needs rest. And Jack is really curious how far this will go if he allows it.

In the end, he pushes the young man away when he starts moving his hips slightly. Not because of the movement itself, rather because of Rhys’ soft moan that sounds a lot like _Jack_.

The boy startles, slowly coming to. He looks around in confusion, taking in his surroundings, mainly Jack’s body still intertwined with his, and the hardness between his legs. He doesn’t seem to notice Jack’s own half-chub as his cheeks colour bright red and he stumbles away, stuttering and not really saying anything.

“You like men, don’t you?” Jack can’t help himself and teases Rhys a little. He frowns when the young man keeps backing away, going far enough to ass-land right in the middle of the fireplace that went completely cold as nobody spent the night up to add wood. Rhys uses his hurt hand to push himself further away, and that’s when Jack steps in. “Stop that, you’re gonna hurt yourself! C'mon, let me help you up. This wasn’t my wildest morning by far, anyway, so there is no reason to be all flustered, kitten, really.”

Finally, Rhys calms down, muttering a last sorry and letting Jack hoist him up, steadying him when he sways a little. He goes to examine his hand immediately, noting that the swelling is gone. He cuts the bandage open and gasps, letting his knife slip out of his hands when the cloth falls open to reveal a smooth hand. No rash or scars.

He doesn’t even bother asking why or how, simply letting Rhys snatch his hand away. If he tried, he might be able to make up a story about the wound being caused by the curse and leaving as suddenly as it appeared, but Jack knows it had a lot more to do with the fact that it was the hand Rhys held his knife in than the beast.

“We should go,” Rhys says quietly, pleadingly. It’s as if he was saying something completely different. _Can I go with you? Can you forget? Can I_ trust _you?_

“Yeah,” Jack answers, even though there was no question.

They eat a cold breakfast and take off. They travel through the land, stopping at villages occasionally to sell prey and get food, supplies or some coin. They don’t talk about the fact that they never meet trees quite similar to the ones Rhys sometimes draws, or about the weird things happening around them, like Jack’s torn clothes mending itself and his worn-down shoe-sole growing strong and complete again.

When in good mood, Rhys talks about his friends. He tells Jack about their shared jokes and little adventures. He talks about his teachers, sharing his ability to read. Jack, in turn, talks about his childhood, knowing that Rhys won’t really understand because he isn’t what he claims to be, but he feels like he can tell him anyway. He talks about his big adventures and successful cons.

Soon, Jack catches himself worrying when Rhys is gone in a town for too long or helping him and stabilising him on terrain that isn’t even remotely dangerous to pass. His hands linger, as do his eyes when Rhys bathes in a river or runs through a meadow full of flowers.

Jack never addresses the way his own name slips more and more often out of soft lips on rare nights when he catches Rhys sleeping. He ignores the longing eyes watching him day and night. He tells himself that it’s not right, that Rhys is his travel companion that will leave as soon as he finds his homeland and Jack will have to continue his travels because there is no place in this world that wants to host the _Son of the Fey_ for too long.

He ignores the ache in his chest until he can’t anymore.

Rhys often talks about the lake not far from his village, with its water clear as day and warm like a bath. As they cross the great mountains, Jack leads them off the trail (not that Rhys would ever notice). It’s one day wasted for nothing as there are many small creeks they could use and they didn’t need to walk there, but the wide smile on Rhys’ face when he sees a lake of crystal-clear water is worth it.

The young man doesn’t waste time, dropping his satchel and pants as he runs to the water, jumping straight in and laughing. He flops into the water and splashes it around, ending up floating on his back and grinning at Jack from the middle of the lake.

The hunter takes his time putting their things away to a safe distance far from the water, folding his clothes (that he washed just yesterday, so he isn’t about to let it lie in the dust and have to wash it again), and walking into the water slowly, getting used to its chill.

Peaceful atmosphere didn’t even fully settle in yet, and his bath suddenly turned into a war when Rhys splashed him. Jack sputtered and splashed back, and when he missed, he lunged at Rhys, trying to pull him underwater.

They spent better half of the day by the lake, fighting in the water or lazing in the sun. They ate dried meat for lunch and walked slowly to their campsite from the previous night when the sun began to set. It wasn’t really far, maybe half an hour now that Jack refreshed his knowledge of the terrain and knew where to go.

The smile never left Rhys’ face. He kept saying thanks and unfinished gasps of _Jack, I_ —…

The second the sun disappeared bellow the horizon, Jack’s hands were on him, pulling him close and with his lips silencing another story about Rhys’ friend Vaughn and him swimming in their lake. The young man’s lips are soft and pliant, mouth open and inviting, while Jack is rough and demanding, the quality of his that got him through the hardest of times in the past now taking the younger man’s breath away.

“Jack!” Rhys gasped when they parted, panting and blushing, something still so unusual on his always pale face.

The hunter paused, almost about to apologise for his actions, but before he even gathered enough air for those words, Rhys was in his lap, cradling his face in both hands and leaning for another kiss, stealing his breath away.

Under the darkening sky, illuminated by the flames of their fire, Jack didn’t even notice Rhys’ skin beginning to glow a warm colour. His tattoos first, then the rest. Jack was blind to it all, focused only on removing their clothes, feeling as much of Rhys’ perfect body as possible.

As they laid naked on their blankets, pressing close, their hands dared further down by the second, until Jack grumbled _fuck it_ and reached for a small ceramic bottle in his satchel, a sweet scented oil he bought in one of the rare towns that he wasn’t forbidden to enter. Always ready, right?

Rhys moaned sweetly when Jack’s thick finger pressed into him, eyes half-closed, searching the hunter’s face for something. Jack wanted to give it to him, give him everything, if only he knew what the young man wants.

“Jack, I— _Ah!_ ” Rhys gasped, eyes snapping wide open and then falling closed when Jack’s finger skilfully found a hidden spot inside him that made him see stars.

He could do this all day, listening to Rhys’ sweet and surprised sounds, almost like he didn’t expect it to feel good because this was the first time someone touched him like that. Just the thought that he might be the first almost drove Jack crazy, and he didn’t even feel the need to ask. Whatever. What’s important is that Rhys is here now, moaning and writhing under him, asking for something and not knowing what.

Every pleasured sound was a test on Jack’s patience. He didn’t want to hurt Rhys, adding another finger only when he was sure he can take it without pain. As soon as he was comfortably moving three fingers in and out, however, his patience disappeared.

The hunter might have felt bad later for the way he manhandled Rhys on his stomach, if the young man didn’t urge him on by moaning and _begging_ for Jack to fuck him. Who is he to deny?

The first slide inside was unlike anything he ever felt, and Jack had his fair share of partners in his life. Rhys was warm and soft, and when he pressed close to litter kisses all over the pale back, he noticed how good he smelled. He was perfect!

Jack’s grunts and groans mixed with Rhys’ as he slowly bottomed out. He waited for a little, but it was hard to be like that when Rhys begged him to move at last. He pulled out a few inches tentatively and snapped his hips forward.

He didn’t expect Rhys to cry out and shudder as he spilled all over their blankets under him, rutting slightly against one of the furs. Jack chuckled and pressed more kisses to the smooth, pale skin, everywhere he could reach.

When he started moving again, setting up a slow, easy rhythm, Rhys whimpered a slight protest, but his hips moved to meet Jack’s as if he wasn’t tired at all.

Soon, the sound of skin meeting skin filled the air as Jack’s pace grew faster, stronger, urgent. His hands settled on Rhys’ thin hips, holding him in place since his movements grew too frantic to keep up with Jack’s pace. At some point he was pulled up to his hands and knees, and even later, his arms gave out under him and he faceplanted into the furs.

The sensations that Jack was making him feel were completely new to him. Everything was too much and not enough at the same time. He wanted to come again, he was so hard, but he wasn’t sure he will be able to so soon after the first orgasm. His face met a soft fur of a fluffy animal, and he nuzzled it, desperately clinging to the grounding sensation, the gentle contrast to the hunter’s vicious thrusts.

“Hold on a little longer for me, Pumpkin,” Jack rasped in his ear, his hot breath dancing on Rhys’ skin before he licked his earlobe, making another array of new sensations explode in him. Blindly, the young man reached for one of Jack’s hands, clutching to it for dear life. The hunter only chuckled and let him have it, sneaking his other hand around his hips to wrap his fingers around Rhys’ aching cock.

“Oh, yes, _please!_ ” he almost screamed, falling apart fast. It only took Jack three strokes to make Rhys come again, and he milked every last drop out of him until it almost hurt.

Jack’s thrusts finally turned short and deep, and he pressed flush to Rhys’ ass, spilling deep inside him with a loud groan. He collapsed onto the younger man, pressing him into the mess he made of their blankets. None of them seemed to mind it as they laid there, breathing hard and exchanging lazy, clumsy kisses until Jack pulled out of Rhys and turned him around to kiss him properly.

“We should get cleaned,” Jack noted when their breathing calmed. A grin never left his face, but he didn’t mind that he probably looks like an idiot, too focused on the fucked-out happy glow of Rhys.

_Glow._

Jack blinked, thinking that maybe the oil wasn’t as safe as he was told, and the sweet scent messed with his head. But no, that would be too normal, and Rhys is _anything_ but that. Rhys, who is now literally glowing, his skin emitting light orange light like the descending sun.

“You’re unbelievable,” he scoffs, kissing a frown out of Rhys’ forehead.

“You aren’t freaked out,” Rhys notes, hesitantly reaching up to cradle Jack’s cheek. The hunter turns and kisses his palm in lieu of an answer. Rhys smiles. “My kind glows when they are happy,” he explains. “Vaughn always told me I shine the brightest of them all when I get a beetroot soup for dinner and a late-night swim in the lake,” he sighs, closing his eyes and relishing in the memory for a second. “It’s not like fey need a lot of sleep…” he looks up at Jack again.

The hunter could feel Rhys’ gaze piercing him, watching his reaction carefully. He made sure to not let any of his dark thoughts show. “Called it,” he jokes, chuckling when Rhys frowns at him. “It’s not like it’s a surprise, dumdum.”

Rhys remained sombre for a while longer and then he smiled. “I guess you knew all along, right?”

“You’re a bad liar,” Jack confirms. “Now,” he begins to stand up, “I might not have a beetroot soup, but I know of a lake that has our names on it. Really, we both need a bath _bad_. Come on.”

It is amazing to watch Rhys dive into the lake, his skin glowing even underwater. Jack contemplates the existence of mermaids or will-o’-the-wisps as he watches the orange and blue glow move under the surface, swimming elegantly to the other end of the lake. Rhys giggles when he comes up for air and he swims back to Jack to pull him into the water too.

It’s not long before exhaustion gets to them both, and they must return to the campsite. The torch they took on the way almost burned out by the time. Rhys’ light is stronger than the glow of the charred wood when his fingers gently lace with Jack’s. The hunter clutches the small hand tightly, making sure Rhys doesn’t slip on the rocky ground. If he did and hurt himself, Jack would find gold covering his wound when they returned to the campsite.

They continue their journey in the morning, only occasional goofy smiles, and annoyed eye-rolls that were obviously feigned, giving away that something happened the previous night. (And the funny way Rhys walks, to Jack’s endless amusement.)

In the oncoming days, the weather becomes cold and windy. Winter nears, and Jack finally gets Rhys to wear a shirt full-time, not only for their stops in towns and villages. Soon, he has to add a coat, as the fey isn’t used to cold weather. It’s now obvious that he doesn’t come from the north and crossing the mountain range was good for nothing. This is not what Rhys meant by _the winters are hard in my homeland_ , not by far.

Too late for them to travel south, and they aren’t far from their destination anyway, and so they push forward to reach the lone hut before the first snow falls. Jack used to stay there with Zane back when they travelled and hunted together, and there should be enough wood and some supplies if it is still in the condition he left it in.

But things never go smoothly in Jack’s life. He knew why he ran from this area, finding shelter in the kingdom of the dwarves for a while, and it was a little foolhardy to come back here. For the first time ever, he believes life can be better for him, that he can _belong_. He has someone to trust, someone who trusts him with his life. His heart melts every time he sees Rhys gaze at him dreamily. He is _happy_. He has someone to hug at night and protect during the day.

Escaping danger is something Jack is really good at. When fight breaks out, he can find a good escape route quickly, and if there is no other way, he knows how to defend himself.

He had a bad feeling since they left the last village in the morning. It was like a shadow looming above them, and it was not the dark grey cloud over their heads. In the safety of the forest once again, Jack grew a little calmer. Both him and Rhys are great hunters, and they won’t be surprised by anything.

But then Rhys starts singing. It’s magical, even more than the glow of his skin that grows stronger in Jack’s presence. He dances through the forest, spinning and laughing every time he sees his lover’s face, and Jack just _can’t_ tell him to stop when he is so happy.

The first arrow whistles past him, missing Jack’s shoulder and hitting a tree. Rhys gasps and stops, looking around for danger.

Danger is everywhere. They are surrounded. At least ten men stand in a circle around them, one by one leaving their hiding spots. Jack recognises most of their faces.

“Got yourself a nice little whore, huh?” one of them mocks.

“You owe us money,” another goes straight to the point.

“Go suck a butt,” Jack spits at both of them.

A fight breaks out. Jack knows Rhys is a shitty fighter, but he is fast, and he can take down a predator. He isn’t used to the fighting style of humans, but surely, he knows when to just run.

The hunter manages to hit one man with an arrow before the others get too close. They don’t seem too focussed on Rhys, and that’s good.

But then the fey screams and stabs one of the men with his wooden spike, driving it through the side of his neck. He collapses to the forest floor, bleeding out quickly as the wood dislodges. Before anyone can blink, Rhys pulls out a silver dagger, a gift from a friendly dwarf they met on their journey, and stabs another man in the back, the dagger hitting him right in the heart.

The situation is a chaos after that. Fighting two opponents is not new to Jack, and he manages to hurt them both enough to shake them off. Much more men go after Rhys, and he tries to fight his way through them. Fear stronger than any he’s ever felt settles in his body, chilling him down to his bones. There is a dark cloud above them and the sky thunders when Rhys’ scream pierces the air.

Neither one of them noticed that one of the men had a sword. It was a masterwork, sharp enough to cut his right arm off completely. With another thunder, Rhys screams once more as his stomach is sliced open with his own silver dagger. A thunderbolt hits a nearby tree, killing three of the men, and the rest runs away, but Jack doesn’t see that.

His eyes are on his lover, now laying on the forest floor, his crimson blood mixing with the spruce needles. His face is contorted in a grimace of shock and pain, and _fear_. He watches, transfixed, blood seeping out of his own stomach, sliced open like a gutted fish. But then he looks up at Jack.

The hunter stops dead in his tracks, a few feet before he could reach the fey. Rhys’ eyes smile at him even though his mouth remains twisted in a painful grimace. His skin begins to glow when he sees his lover, more and more until he is bright like the settling sun.

And just like that, his blood turns to gold.

* * *

* * *

Jack doesn’t want to notice, doesn’t want to see. But even when he closes his eyes, he knows. A sweet, alluring scent fills the air, the same one like the one on Rhys’ skin, but much stronger. It’s calling to him, but not like a nice song. It is an order. It is dark magic if he is to guess, but there is no time for that, because when Jack opens his eyes, he finds out that he is kneeling by Rhys’ side. His shirt is torn open and Jack’s lips are latched on his skin, sucking the blood off it. His fingers are skimming on the edge of the wound, teasing it before dipping in.

He wants _more_. The golden blood tastes like a potion. A dark whisper in his head promises him eternal life, youth and beauty, wealth greater than the one of any king, and _power_. He lets his fingers dig deeper, stroking the silky, hot insides of Rhys’ stomach. He ignores an agonized scream somewhere in the distance as he pulls his fingers out, licking them clean, sucking on them.

But he _needs more!_ It is not enough; the wound is too small. The blood is flowing in all directions, creating a golden pond in the middle of the forest, but Jack knows that if he wants his immortality and endless power, he needs to make the wound even bigger. Slice Rhys’ ribcage open. Play a song on his ribs and kiss his heart.

He looks up at his lover, intending to ask for his dagger. It’s silver and it won’t hurt him, unlike the iron sword that left a sizzling, charring wound.

But he stops.

Rhys is smiling at him weakly, tears streaming down his face. It takes him multiple attempts to speak, he coughs and sputters, and all the while, Jack is stuck here, rooted to the spot by two forces – one tugging him forward and the other telling him to stop.

“It’s alright, Jack,” Rhys says, his voice weak and raspy. “I knew you always wanted this… It’s alright… I, I’m happy to die with you.” He keeps smiling, reaching with his remaining hand to touch Jack’s face. He smears golden blood all over his cheek. Then, his hand falls.

* * *

* * *

“No!” Jack wakes up from his trance. He grasps at the hand, finding it cold, but there is still light in Rhys’ eyes, his skin glowing warm orange.

“No, no, don’t let go, Rhysie,” he whispers. He no longer feels the need for blood, only cold, heart-shattering pain and fear. “I can fix this, I swear! I’m sorry!” He presses the hand to his cheek again, feeling his own tears.

Rhys takes another pained breath, coughing out more blood. “Jack, I—” He stops, as always.

“I love you,” Jack blurts out. “I love you, Rhys, you can’t leave me. I love you.” His voice breaks, then, but he keeps pressing kisses to his cold palm, hoping to convey the message.

“Jack, I—” Rhys speaks up again, his voice but a whisper in the raising wind. The hunter looks up just in time to see his lips form the words. “I love you too.”

Rhys’ eyes fall closed.

“No… No, no, no, no, _no!_ Rhys!” Jack cries, raising to his feet. A few stray snowflakes manage to slip past the crowns of the high trees and fall onto the palely glowing body on the ground. One of them lands in the middle of the injury, a gaping hole in the stomach of Jack’s lover.

He lets out an agonized sound when he sees the gold stop flowing. It can’t be over, not yet. _He needs to get Rhys home!_

The blood flow has ceased, but Rhys’ chest continues to flutter, raising weakly every now and then. More snow falls onto his body. Jack falls to his knees again, cradling the body of his lover in his arms.

“Please,” he whispers. “Please, please… _Rhys_ …”

He hears a gasp. And another cough.

Jack’s head snaps up so fast his neck hurts. Rhys’ eyes are still closed, golden blood drying at his lips, but… He looks down. The wound is almost gone, and Rhys’ light is back, shining like the sun in the middle of the day.

“Rhys?” he breaths out the name so carefully, you would think he is imploring a god. There is no answer.

“I can fix this,” he says again and stands up, carrying Rhys in his arms. His back protests, so do his knees. He takes a wobbly step forward, and he doesn’t stop.

Two hours later, Jack falls to his knees again, Rhys tumbling from his arms. Exhaustion and relief sent him to the ground when he finally saw the safe house.

He drags Rhys in the snow, carries him again after unlocking the door. The wound on his stomach is gone, but he is cold, and paler than ever, his light white and hurting Jack’s eyes. He lays Rhys on an old fur in front of the fireplace and starts a fire a minute later, the wood ready and perfect. It’s not the wood Jack collected before he left, and the thought that his friend probably stopped by in their safe house in the meantime, still trusting it, still alive – it makes him feel good.

As the house slowly warms up, Jack begins tending to Rhys’ other wound. There is no blood, but the stump is covered by charred skin and tissue. A violent red rash has spread all over a pale shoulder, the poison of iron taking even more of Rhys’ strength.

Rhys doesn’t wake up.

Every night and each day except for one, Jack spends kneeling by his side. He doesn’t sleep, doesn’t eat. He lets drops of warm water fall into his lover’s mouth, making sure he doesn’t die of thirst during his rest. He puts snow wrapped in a linen towel on his forehead to ease his raging fever.

“Please,” he whispers every now and then.

“I love you,” even more often.

On the dawn of the fourth day, Rhys’ eyelids begin to flutter. It is like a magical promise.

Few hours later, Rhys opens his eyes, his unfocused gaze seeking Jack. He keeps blinking absently, not fully awake, but it is all Jack needs to start crying again. He kisses his forehead over and over, repeating his promises and confessions, telling the fey that he loves him, and he will never hurt him again. That everything will be alright.

Rhys’ strength returns to him slowly, but they have plenty of time. The winter rages outside of the cottage’s walls, promising death to anyone who dares to travel now.

Jack only ever leaves to get more wood or try to hunt down something fresher than the dried or salted meat they have. He had to go back for the supplies he dropped when he carried Rhys, and that were the scariest three hours of his life.

Come to think about it, he fears and worries a lot more now that he has someone other than himself to worry about.

He wouldn’t exchange it for anything.

The stump heals into an ugly scarred thing, Rhys’ arm completely gone and shoulder empty. It throws his balance off and makes him fall on his first few attempts at walking. Jack is happy to stabilise him to help him find his balance again, but it takes them many deep talks for Rhys to accept his situation. Jack kisses every inch of his shoulder carefully at night, telling him that he loves him, all of him, and doesn’t mind his injury, that he is still “whole”, and he is Jack’s for as long as he wants to be.

The snow finally begins to melt, and Jack starts bringing in more prey for their dinner table when Rhys feels strong enough to venture out shortly. He stumbles in the snow, but Jack knows better than to try and steady him now. Rhys needs to gain confidence in himself again, and so he lets him fall and get up multiple times as he walks around the hut in circles.

After a nap that afternoon, Rhys is full of energy, and it becomes the first night Jack takes him after the injury. He is gentle with him, prepping him slowly and reminding him that he is beautiful so many times that Rhys has no other choice than to believe it.

And one day, the birds begin to sing a different melody, and both men know the winter is over. Their strength has been replenished and it is time to move on, heading south this time, in search of Rhys’ homeland. Encouraged by their dreadful experience, they feel unstoppable, together.

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> This story is complete, but I might take these two guys on another adventure some time. :)
> 
> To all three of my fandoms… Yes, I posted the same work three times with little changes. Bite me. This is me being generous, not greedy. I had to re-read this work so many times, I think I’m allowed to do this with how much work I put into the stunt. :D
> 
> Thank you for reading! ^.^ You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ElfWriting).


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